


Show Me

by Twisted_Mind



Series: What You Like [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Modification, Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, Kink Discovery, M/M, Nipple Play, Piercings, Post-Season/Series 02, Rebuilt Hale House
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 21:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11906667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: Peter smirks, and yep, yes, that is in fact an eyebrow piercing, which not only increases the sass—which should not be possible, that’s gotta break at least three laws of physics—but is also outrageously hot. “Nothing important.”And then Peter turns to head into the study, where they’ve been translating the bestiary, and he catches sight of the bar running through the cartilage of Peter’s right ear. His dick twitches and begins to fill, because hello, heretofore-unknown kink.Peter, of course, notices. And says something, because he’s rude like that. “Why, Stiles,” he purrs, turning around. “See something you like?”





	Show Me

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, the last few days have been such a mixed bag of ups and downs. This fic has given me so much grief, OMG. It's been something I wanted to write for years, but only actually planned out last October, and wrote as part of my War on WIPs. I can't even tell you at this point who has helped me with it, because so many people have, including moonlightcalls, red_crate, Dani-Cat, Aminias, and the other enablers in TWT. My thanks go out to all of you who helped make this one happen, because it _really_ could not have without all of you. 
> 
> That being said . . . HAPPY FRIDAY!

 

 

Stiles enters the pack house to Derek facepalming. It’s a sight he will treasure until the day he dies. He doesn’t even care why it’s happening.

But he’s in luck, because he finds out anyway. Unsurprisingly, it’s because of Peter.

(He knew there were perks to keeping the zombiewolf around.)

“Really, Derek, you had no such issue when I had them done initially. I fail to understand why you’re being all conservative about it now.”

A growl rips up from Derek’s chest. “You are in your _thirties_! You should be past rebellious bullshit like this by now!”

Peter raises an eyebrow—which, holy shitballs, is that a piercing?—and asks, “What if it’s simply because I like it, nephew?” Peter sidles around to touch Derek’s back. “Not all of us get tattoos out of family loyalty.”

Derek stomps away from Peter’s touch. “Yeah, well, at least if you had, you could pretend it was for anything but your ego.”

“And what if I told you that I have a triskelion?”

Derek turns. “I’d believe it when I saw it.”

Peter shrugs. “Very well.” And then he _unbuttons his jeans_.

Stiles is pretty sure his eyes are going to bug out of his head. They have to know he’s there—they asked him to come over, after all—but drawing attention to himself right now seems like a stupid idea. And he only ignores self-preservation when other people’s lives are on the line.

But if he isn’t quite smart enough to try and slip back out, sue him. The Hales are gorgeous.

Peter doesn’t whip his dick out, but he rolls the waistband away from his skin to reveal something Stiles can’t see from where he is. Derek can, though, and takes a step forward to touch. “You really did it,” Derek mutters.

He steps away, and Peter re-buttons with a huff. “Of course I did. Now, if you’re done castigating me for what I’ve chosen to do with my own body, Stiles is here to go over the bestiary.”

He jumps about a foot in the air, because he was not prepared for Peter to draw attention to him like that. But it’s fine, because Derek gives a mild glare and then shoulders by him. The roar of the Camaro is a very unsubtle indicator that Derek has left the building, and won’t be back anytime soon.

Stiles moves into the living room cautiously. “What’s got his undies in a twist?” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder.

Peter smirks, and yep, yes, that is in fact an eyebrow piercing, which not only increases the sass—which should not be possible, that’s gotta break at least three laws of physics—but is also outrageously hot. “Nothing important.”

And then Peter turns to head into the study, where they’ve been translating the bestiary, and he catches sight of the bar running through the cartilage of Peter’s right ear. His dick jerks and begins to fill, because hello, heretofore-unknown kink.

Peter, of course, notices. And says something, because he’s rude like that. “Why, Stiles,” he purrs, turning around. “See something you like?”

He swallows, mouth dry. “Don’t mock me, asshole. It’s just a shock, gimme some time to get used to it.”

Peter tips his head, stepping closer. “That’s not an answer.”

He shuffles back a step, but Peter moves closer, and suddenly his back is to a wall and Peter’s arms are caging him in. His eyes close and moan slips out his mouth when Peter’s head dips to scent his jaw and behind his ear. “You’re allowed to have a kink, sweetheart,” Peter whispers. “And if you want to explore it, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

He whimpers, because he’s starting to leak in his boxers and he knows Peter can smell it. “Would you like that, Stiles? Getting to put your hands and mouth all over my piercings?”

“If this is some kind of sick joke . . .” he trails off, because he doesn’t know yet what he’ll do if Peter’s setting him up or making fun of him, but he’ll think of something appropriately awful.

Peter mouths at his jaw. “No joke, sweetheart. I have a number of pretty baubles for you to get acquainted with, and the scent of you hard and aching for me is more than repayment enough.”

He’s nodding before he thinks it over. He should probably say no, but fuckit, Peter’s been the creepy uncle long enough that he might as well take the leap into full-blown dirtybadwrong territory, and Stiles knows himself well enough to know that if he doesn’t say yes today, he will at some point in the future. Probably after jerking his dick raw thinking about it.

Peter’s smirking and stepping away. “You should follow me, then.”

And he does, again before he’s really thought it through, but then they’re in the living room and Peter’s stripping off his shirt and has he always been this built? Because werewolf or no, that just seems unfair. He’s still trailing behind when they get to the stairs, and the sound of Peter’s zipper being lowered is torture. Peter doesn’t actually lose the jeans until they’re in the hallway, and dear lord, he knew the Hales were genetically blessed but knowing that didn’t prepare him for the sight of Peter’s bare ass.

He trips over air scrambling down the hallway and into Peter’s bedroom. When he enters, he doesn’t dare look down. The smirking face and pierced eyebrow are enough to handle for the moment, thanks. Stiles licks his lips and reaches out a hand tentatively. “Can I?”

Peter nods, stepping forward so Stiles’s fingertips connect with his face. Stiles is gentle, reverent as he traces Peter’s features and thumbs at the barbell. “How . . .?” He’s not sure how to ask what he wants to know, but Peter seems to intuit what he’s after.

“Werewolf healing is essentially just human healing sped up to a super-human rate. Piercings aren’t exactly like tattoos, where fire is necessary to render them visible. If you fiddle with piercings in the hours after having them done, a fistula forms and the body considers the matter dealt with.”

“Huh.” It’s not elegant, but whatever. He rests his other hand on Peter’s chest, because he’s got license to touch and he plans to exploit it for all he’s worth, but he’s not expecting Peter to guide his hand lower, or to feel metal. He looks down, and it feels like all the breath has been punched out of him.

Peter’s nipples are pierced.

He frames them with his hands, staring. He’s hard as a rock in his jeans and this is fucking ridiculous, but he’s so turned on he can feel his pulse in his dick.

“Go on, sweetheart. Play with them.”

He traces over one, feather-light. Outlining it. Then, glancing at Peter’s face, he rubs firmly. Peter’s eyes close in pleasure, and it makes him bolder, plucking at the flesh and metal under his fingers. That gets him a breathy little sound, and he palms himself through his jeans, trying not to cream his pants. “So, you’re sensitive?”

Peter’s eyes are glittering and the fact that he’s wearing nothing but a smirk and barbells should not be attractive, damnit. “Wasn’t before, but that’s one of the perks.” Then his hand reaches out to guide Stiles’s head forward. “You want to see how they feel on your tongue, between your teeth?”

Stiles moans, because fuck yes he does. So he lets the hand in his hair pull him down until he can close his mouth around the pierced little bud. He gives a gentle suck at first, and likes the way Peter’s breath stutters in response, so he flicks his tongue against it next. That causes the fingers in his hair to tighten, and _oh_ , he didn’t realize he liked that so much.

But the way Peter groans when he tugs at the barbell with his teeth is what makes another spurt of pre-come soak the front of his boxers. He moves to the other side to give it the same attention, and doesn’t realize he’s whining until Peter pulls him upright and shushes him.

“It’s alright. What do you need?”

“I don’t, I’m not—” he breaks off, breath catching, when Peter cups him through his jeans.

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay, I promise. Do you need to come?”

He nods against Peter’s naked shoulder, a broken “yes,” falling from his lips. He’s never needed to come this badly in his life. It’s a little embarrassing.

“How would you feel about me slipping my hand into your jeans and giving you what you need? You okay with that, sweetheart?”

He makes some kind of positive sound. It’s not actual words. But Peter doesn’t seem to need them, instead deftly undoing his jeans with one hand while the other wraps around his back, holding him upright. Peter doesn’t tease him, thank fuck, because he couldn’t take it right now. As it is, he’ll probably only last about 45 seconds. A minute tops.

He makes the mistake of looking down, wanting to see Peter’s strong, capable hand wrapped around his dick. Which, on its own, would probably be enough to nearly make him come, but looking down also means looking at Peter’s dick, and that means noticing the Prince Albert. He whines, coming so hard his legs shake.

Peter chuckles, and the low rasp rolling over his nerve endings makes him quiver. He kind of wants to apologize, but his brain feels like it’s broken or possibly just dribbled out his dick, so he’s quiet as he’s set on the bed. He nuzzles against Peter’s abs, eyes closed, mindlessly licking up any come he finds. He likes the taste, especially combined with Peter’s skin.

He’s not expecting that to cause a growl, however, and jerks back in alarm. Blue wolf-eyes stare back at him, but the naked hunger all over Peter’s face makes him realize that he hasn’t done anything wrong, per se. “Um?”

“A little lower, if you don’t mind,” Peter husks, and yep, yes, he can definitely do that.

He wraps a hand around Peter’s cock as he suckles the head. He knows it’s probably really bad blowjob etiquette to only pay attention to the tip, so he tries to remember to squeeze the shaft in between tonguing and licking and generally worshipping the barbell running through Peter’s cock.

Peter’s not complaining, so he’s not worrying about it.

He does, however, whine in protest when Peter peels him off. “None of that, now.”

He doesn’t know what’s going on here, but it’s Peter, so it’s safe to be suspicious. “What? You seemed totally fine with my mouth on your dick before five seconds ago.”

He might be annoyed. Just a little.

Peter’s fingertips skate along his jaw. “No need to be touchy, sweetheart. I was just going to ask if you wanted me to finish in your mouth, or if you wanted to find out what my piercing feels like sliding over your prostate.”

He chokes on a moan. He wants. He wants _so bad_ , and he shouldn’t, he really, really shouldn’t, but he doesn’t have the self-control to say no. He’s nodding, hands coming up to clutch at Peter’s hips, when his thumb brushes against another piece of metal.

It’s. He doesn’t know what it is. Like, yeah, okay, it’s a tiny metal triskelion, but he has no idea how it’s sitting on top of Peter’s skin like that. He traces a circle around it with his thumb. “What is this, exactly? I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

Peter hums, one hand idly carding through his hair. “No, I don’t suppose you would’ve. It’s a dermal. There’s an anchor under the skin, which holds the post in place. I had the triskelion made to screw onto the post, but I could buy other fixtures, and change it out, if I wanted.”

Before Stiles can respond to that—not that he’s figured out how, yet—Peter’s speaking again. “Now then. Do you want me to split you open on my cock, or not? I’m afraid I need words from you on this one.”

And, just like that, Stiles realizes he’s hard again. “Yeah, I—yeah. Please.”

Peter smirks. “So polite. Get naked while I get the condoms and lube.”

Stiles pretty much falls all over himself to do just that, because god, he’s curious. It doesn’t hurt that he knows he likes being filled, and Peter’s cock is thick enough to make all sorts of promises. He’s curious about whether or not it can keep them.

Though, given that it’s Peter? Probably. And then some.

He’s down to his underwear by the time Peter’s focussed on him again. “Pretty,” he murmurs, one hand sweeping down his chest and stomach. “Then again, I’m not surprised. I don’t know if you have a preference, but it’ll probably be easier if you’re on hands and knees.”

Stiles licks his lips, thinking about it. It’s hot, no question, but . . . “I’d rather be on my back. Wanna be able to touch you.”

“And see me too, no doubt.” Peter’s mouth quirks, but it’s not unkind. “Alright, on your back it is.”

It occurs to him, as he stretches out on Peter’s bed, the werewolf between his spread thighs, that it’s not just him who gets to look, like this. He’s as much on display as Peter is, if not more. It’s not a comfortable feeling.

But then Peter’s massaging with two slick fingers, and he decides to focus on that, instead. He tilts his hips up, wanting them in him already. Peter huffs, “Impatient brat,” but then a fingertip is easing inside, so whatever, he doesn’t care.

He rocks against Peter's hand, desperate for more, and silently cursing the fact he hasn't fingered himself lately. He knows if he had, this part would go faster, but he just hasn't had the time. He doesn't know what, exactly has tipped Peter off—if it's his face or scent or his impossible-to-control mouth—but he stops for a moment, one hand resting over Stiles's thundering heart. “It's alright, sweetheart. I'll give you what you want, you just have to be patient for a little while longer.”

“I just, I need,” he stops, frustrated, because he doesn't actually know _what_ he needs, just that he does.

Peter, however, nods like he expected it. “Alright, here's what we’re going to do. You’re going to stay right where you are, and let me fuck your face while I finish opening you up. I'm not interested in coming, just in giving you something nice to distract you, so don't go making that harder than it needs to be.”

He’s nodding eagerly, totally on-board with this plan, but Peter's not done. “Your hands can either stay on the bed, or you can wrap them around my thighs, but if I see them anywhere else, I’ll stop. Understand?”

“Yes, I get it, I'll be good.” He'd be ashamed of how he's all-but begging, but this is so unexpected, and so unexpectedly hot, that he doesn't have the ability to feel anything but overwhelmingly turned-on.

He opens his mouth when Peter gets into position, and slurps eagerly as Peter lowers himself carefully. He moans when thick fingers nudge at his prostate at the same time Peter’s cock nudges the back of his throat, and goes lax, trying to take everything he’s being given. It’s all good, but he wants more. (He’s greedy, sue him.)

His hands fist in the blankets at Peter starts thrusting gently at both ends. It’s so much, but at the same time, it’s not enough, either, because he wants to come and this won’t get him there. He gives a muffled whine. Peter chuckles.

“Easy, sweetheart. I need you to be patient for me just a little longer.”

He responds by spreading his legs further and arching. He doesn’t need to see Peter’s face to know it’s smirking. He’s got a mouthful of dick, he can pretty much taste the smug. But Peter eases a third finger inside him and seems to get serious about stretching him out, so he tries to focus on timing his breaths with the shallow rocking of Peter’s hips.

Finally, he pulls away—and, while Stiles really liked Peter’s dick in his mouth, he wants it in his ass more. He’s so high-strung that he’s past words when Peter settles back between his thighs, can only whimper brokenly and arch into the push as Peter enters him slowly. He can feel minute tremors dancing up and down his thighs, and he doesn’t think he’s gonna last long, despite the fact that he came not long ago.

He’s never lasted long when his prostate’s being played with, and if he had any doubts about Peter’s ability to find it, they’re forced out of his head with the first real thrust.

Peter rolls his hips leisurely, and Stiles feels like he can’t breathe. Like every bit of room in his body is being taken up by Peter moving inside of him, and he doesn’t care. The only parts of him that matter right now are the parts Peter’s touching.

“If I’d known how prettily you’d take this, I would’ve stuffed you with my cock sooner.”

His hands clutch at Peter’s broad back as he squeezes involuntarily. He can’t—he’ll die, if Peter keeps talking like that. And dying means no more magical sex with Peter’s pierced everything.

Peter doesn’t seem to care, given that he drops to cover Stiles with his body, his big hands underneath Stiles, keeping him where Peter wants him. “That’s it, sweetheart. Show me how much you like this.”

He tries to muffle the sob he wants to give in Peter’s shoulder, but he doesn’t know how successful he is. Peter’s still sliding in and out at that same easy pace, teasing him. It’s good, it’s so good, but it’s also gonna take him forever to come like this. He doesn’t have enough oxygen flowing to his brain to know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Peter mouths up his throat, along his jaw, sucking the gathering salt from his skin. “As much as I like this darling—believe me, we’ll be doing it again soon—I promised you a certain something.”

He whines when Peter pulls away, because he likes being under Peter, likes the way the skin-warmed metal of nipple piercings rubs against his chest, likes that his dick is smearing _Stiles was here_ along Peter’s happy-trail. But Peter sits back on his heels, dragging Stiles with him until he’s half-draped across Peter’s lap. He sees a brief smirk accompanied by, “Ready?” and then his body goes taut as a bowstring as he wails, because Peter’s hips are slapping against his ass, hammering his prostate.

After the initial shock, he starts to keen. The pressure is harsher than he’s used to, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the unforgiving metal or the sheer force behind Peter’s thrusts, but either way it’s making him unravel. He can’t even push back into it, because of Peter’s grip on him. All he can do is take it.

“You’re gorgeous like this, Stiles.”

His eyes fly open and his hand flies to his dick. He wanted to draw this out, wanted to last longer, but he can’t. He needs to touch himself.

“That’s it, baby. Fist your pretty cock until you come for me.”

As if he could do anything else.

He comes choking on Peter’s name. Peter doesn’t stop, working him through it, slowing as he makes a mess of himself and stilling only after he’s gone ragdoll limp and is panting for breath. He starts to ease out, but Stiles whines, stopping him, and Peter quirks an eyebrow. “I’m not going far, sweetheart, I just want to finish myself off.”

He shakes his head, managing to slur, “In me.”

Peter’s eyes narrow. “You sure? You’re not too sensitive?”

“Am. But need you to . . .” he trails off, reaching for the words to make Peter understand. His brain doesn’t want to cooperate.

Luckily, Peter seems to get it, because he leans down, pressing Stiles into the bed as he rocks in the same unhurried rhythm he used when he first pressed inside Stiles’s body. It’s drugging, smooth enough that it just feels good, even though he’s still sensitive from coming.

And then Peter’s murmuring against his throat. “So sweet for me, taking it like a good boy.” His breath hitches, and he squeezes Peter between his thighs. “Can’t wait to do this again, make you come on my cock over and over.”

He might die. He doesn’t actually think he’ll survive this, but that doesn’t bother him as much as it should. He’s too lost in the sound of Peter’s voice, of the steady slide teasing his nerve endings. It’s a shivery sensation that’s too intense to be pleasure, but isn’t quite pain, either.

Peter’s starting to pant, and Stiles thinks he might be close. “Wanna keep you.”

“Yeah?” He likes the sound of that. It might be the afterglow talking.

Peter groans, his hips stuttering. “Yeah. Wanna slide jewellery through your pretty nipples.” Stiles lets out a whine as his dick gives a feeble twitch. “Want everyone to know I put ‘em there, that you’re mine.”

“Peter, _please_.” He doesn’t know what he’s begging for, but he can’t help it.

“Wanna tug them between my teeth just to listen to you whine.” Stiles yelps as Peter gives a few hard, shocking thrusts before shuddering and going still.

He pets Peter’s sweat-damp hair with clumsy fingers and waits for his brain to come back online. Or not. _Not_ is a possibility, after all this. He’s pretty sure human beings aren’t built to withstand supernaturally amazing sex with unfairly hot, pierced werewolves.

He does eventually regain the ability to speak. “Did you mean it?”

Peter mouths at his neck, sending tingles and goosebumps dancing along his skin. “I meant all of it, but which part specifically?”

He smiles at the ceiling. “The bit where you wanted to do this again.”

Peter snorts. “If you have doubts about whether or not I want to do this again, I didn’t fuck you hard enough.”

He grins. “Promises, promises.”

 

***

 

It turns out, Peter really did mean everything he said that day, because eight months later he’s taken Stiles to his piercer. Stiles isn’t actually sure how he got here. He’s pretty sure Peter sex-ninjaed him.

“Remind me again why I agreed to this?” he mutters as his nipples pebble under the alcohol wipe.

Peter’s thumb strokes soothingly over his forearm. “Because you love my piercings, and because we both know we’re going to enjoy how much fun they’ll be after they’ve healed.”  

Stiles is about to give that the rude response it deserves when the needle slides into his flesh. He gasps, and is suddenly glad for Peter’s grip on his arms, because otherwise, he might’ve punched the piercer, and the nice professional doesn’t deserve that. Even if they did just technically stab him.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, almost done,” Peter coos.

He heaves in a deep breath, trying to simultaneously recover from the white-hot pain and prepare for it to happen again. “Fuck you, Peter.”

“Well, since I’m already holding you down . . .”

 

**Author's Note:**

> And that is 7 WIPs down, and 4 more to go. Off the original list, anyway, don't ask me about the other projects that are also currently in the works. 
> 
> Or, y'know, _do_ if you wanna watch my head explode and all the crazy pour out.


End file.
